University of Virginia Library

43. CHAPTER XLIII.
THE LITERARY LION.

There was a large party of the rich and the fashionable,
those of aristocratic pretensions, and others of distinction,
whether by the sword, the pen, or the fiddlestick, assembled
at the magnificent mansion of Jabez Pringle, a retired
manufacturer in the great city of New York. Mrs.
Pringle was an exceedingly handsome and accomplished
lady, and certainly employed the enormous fortune of her
yielding lord in a philosophic manner, viz.: in the procurement
of the rational enjoyments which wealth can
purchase. She had a discriminating taste, and in the promotion
of her own happiness, had made the discovery that
it was necessary to contribute to the enjoyment of others.
And this she did quite heartily, and without confining her
bounties exclusively to the rich and gay portion of the
community; for many a poor pensioner had good cause to
bless her name.

In the midst of the glare of the crowded saloon, was
seated a beautiful young lady, enjoying the plaudits of an

admiring circle, whom she had fascinated by the charms of
her voice, and the graces of her performance at the piano.
It was Alice. Blooming as the rose, and with sparkling
glances evincing an acknowledgment of the delicious incense
of praise so freely offered at her shrine, it was not
difficult to perceive that the pomp of wealth, the vanity of
fashion, had done their work; and that the once affectionate
and ingenuous young girl had yielded to the endeavours
of bad advisers to counteract the influences of education,
and render all that was generous and ennobling in her
nature subservient to the caprices of a false standard of
respectability.

By the side of Alice was Elgiva, in simple, modest
attire, and with the serenity of perfect self-possession and
maidenly reserve depicted on her classic features. She
listened in silence and suppressed astonishment to the torrent
of words poured into her ear by her old schoolmate,
now transformed into the gay belle. First was made to
pass in review the long catalogue of her conquests. Then
followed the distinguished attentions that had been paid
her at Washington by the great men of the nation, and
not omitting her intimacy and subsequent correspondence
with Miss Z., the President's niece, for whose benefit, and
at her especial request, she had consented to leave her
dear mother, then in deep mourning, and accept the pressing
invitation of Mrs. Pringle, which had been sent to her
in Philadelphia.

“But how is your presence here to benefit Miss Z—?”
asked Elgiva.

“Don't you know who is to be here to-night—the great
feature of the party?”

“No. I must confess my ignorance.”

“Did not Mrs. Pringle name some of the celebrities in
her note of invitation?”

“Not to me. I was at New Ark, where the convention
was sitting. An invitation came for the bishop, which he
declined; and I suppose Mrs. P. learned from him that
I was sojourning in that place. The next day I had her
note, but there was no mention of the names of any of the
guests to be present, except yours.”

“Mine was mentioned, then. I am much obliged to her.

But Mr. Bibliopole, the book publisher, is to bring Mr.
Mark Mayfield, the author of the popular novel. I wonder
if they have not arrived? There is such a mob, though,
one cannot see who is present. But they will come, and Mrs.
P. has promised me an introduction to the author. And
then, if I like him, I am to give him a letter of introduction
to Miss Z—, who is passionately fond of lions, and
particularly those she has a hand in making.”

“Now I understand. And I shall be gratified to see
this Mr. Mayfield, for I like his book.”

“Oh, it is charming! Such a devoted lover, and such
a glorious vindication of the `Dishonoured!' I was speaking
of it to Mr. Skimmer a while ago, who, you know, is
a famous critic; but all critics must be snarlers; and so
he said it was a tolerably clever production for a very
young man, and sold pretty well; but it was deficient in
many respects, and he could not praise it conscientiously
with his pen, although the author was an intimate friend.”

“I see Mrs. Pringle coming this way now,” said
Elgiva.

“Yes. But General M— has stopped her. And
there is Mr. Bibliopole behind her, and—Mercy on us!
Is it possible Mrs. Pringle invited him?”

“Who?”

“Ned Lorn! Don't you see him there?”

“Oh, yes. And I saw him an hour ago, and conversed
with him. Is it such a surprising thing that he should be
here?”

“Oh, no; not at all. He is handsome enough, well educated,
and quite agreeable. Don't you think so?”

“Certainly I do. And I was very glad to meet him so
unexpectedly. I knew he was in the city, but did not expect
to see him here.”

“I suppose you meet him very often at Summerton?”

“Yes. In a village like ours, one sees one's friends
quite frequently. They meet at all events once a week at
church.”

“At church! That's the best place for the young
ladies to meet the young gentlemen! Heigh ho! He was
my first beau!”

“And of course the first to be discarded.”

“Yes. He had no fortune, no friends, no name. It
was not eligible in any way. I wonder he had the impudence
to aspire, and I the simplicity to listen to him.”

“I thought there was a mutual attachment.”

“There was. It was what they call `puppy love'—and
truly he was a puppy to approach me as he did with tenders
of eternal constancy! He! I suppose you have
heard his history?”

“Yes. But the version I had was not calculated to
produce a contemptuous opinion of his merits.”

“There are two versions. I had mine from the honourable
Mr. Mallex, who you know is a member of the President's
cabinet.”

“And an enemy of Mr. Lorn, I believe; and interested
in keeping the young man out of his fortune. I had my
version from the bishop; and I am convinced it is the correct
one.”

“We wont quarrel about it!” said Alice, smiling significantly.
“Only look! There's General M—, Mr.
B—, Mr. W—, Mr. H—, forming a group around
Ned, and introducing him to the ladies! What can it
mean? Now he comes this way,” she added, after a long
pause, “following Mr. Bibliopole and Mrs. Pringle.”

Mrs. Pringle introduced Mr. Bibliopole to Alice and
Elgiva. Then the publisher proceeded to introduce our
hero; but before he had time to speak, he perceived with
some surprise that they were already acquainted.

The greeting of the young ladies was cordial enough,
and Ned was quite unembarrassed in their presence. He
lingered near them several minutes, and until he was led
away by some of his new acquaintances.

“Mrs. Pringle!” cried Alice, almost angrily.

“My dearest Alice, what is the matter?”

“Did you not promise that Mr. Mayfield should be
present this evening?”

“Certainly. And has not Mr. Bibliopole introduced him?”

“Such was my intention,” said the publisher, “but it
appears that they were already acquainted.”

“Already acquainted!” cried Alice, in unaffected surprise.
“How do you know that? When did you see us
together?”

“Pardon me,” said Mr. Bibliopole, smiling, “I see how
it is. It has only been a few days since the author of `The
Dishonoured' abandoned his non de plume. Mr. Mayfield
is no other than Mr. Edward Lorn.”

“Mercy on us! Can it be possible?” cried Alice.

“I think it very likely,” said Elgiva, with an enthusiastic
glow upon her face. “I am sure it is so, since Mr.
Bibliopole vouches for it. And, indeed, from certain peculiar
expressions in the book I have been inclined to suspect
as much when listening to similar ones in Mr. Lorn's
conversation.”

“What will Miss Z— think?” said Alice, half abstractedly.

“She will be likely to think it a very interesting discovery,”
said Elgiva, “when she learns that the author was
recently in Washington, and probably very near her frequently.”

“No; I can't sing!” said Alice, to some one who desired
to hear her voice. I am not very well. I must retire,
Mrs. Pringle, if you please—but I will slip away without
being observed.”

She did so. And when she was entirely out of sight,
Elgiva was joined by our hero.

“I forgot, Miss Bloomville,” said he, “to inquire about
Charles's health. I hope you have seen him or heard of him
since I left home. He promised to write; but if he has
done so, I have failed to receive his letters.”

“I did hear there was a recurrence of the hemorrhage,”
said Elgiva, sadly, “the evening before I left town. I
wished to mention it; but had no opportunity.”

“Poor Charles!” said Ned, while a tear trembled in his
eye. “I fear the hemorrhage will prove fatal this time.
I will return to-morrow—I wish it could be to-night. He
must be low indeed, not to write to me. I fear the worst.
But he is prepared. He poured out his whole heart the
last evening I was with him. Oh, he is too good, too pure
to live!”

“I met him once at Viola's grave,” said Elgiva. “I
knew not till then who it was besides myself frequented
the spot to scatter flowers on the earth where that sweet
angel reposes. He must have loved her well!”

“He did!” said Ned.

“And perhaps the anguish occasioned by her untimely
death may have hastened the period of his own.”

“Undoubtedly it has contributed to that result. He
confessed as much to me.”

“His love must have commenced at an early age. Viola
was quite young when she died; and from the time she
came to the Hall, she never returned to her home. He
could not have seen her often there; and during the vacations
she and I were almost inseparable. What he imparted
to you, was, I suppose, in confidence.”

“It was. One other, only, was to be permitted to know
his secret, and that was Elgiva.”

“Me? I am all anxiety to hear it. He may safely confide
in me. I see him sinking to the grave as poor Viola
did; and I pity him. More than that, Mr. Lorn, I do not
hesitate to say I feel an affection for the unfortunate youth
—not that affection felt for a lover—but the kind a sister
feels for a brother. It is the same species of attachment
I had for Viola, who doubtless possessed his whole heart,
and worthily possessed it.”

“Viola was his sister,” said Ned.

“His sister!” exclaimed Elgiva.

Ned repeated the narrative of Charles.

“The resemblance,” said Elgiva, “which I so often remarked,
should have convinced me they were relatives.
Oh yes! Tell him I will continue to visit the grave of
Viola. And if—no, it cannot be spoken. It will not
do to say to him I will strew flowers on his own grave.
But I will say it to you. You may tell him, however, that
since Viola is gone, Elgiva feels for him a sister's esteem;
and would lament as a sister his untimely end.”

“It will cheer him. I know from the first time he beheld
you, he has not ceased to express his admiration.
His sister doubtless mentioned you in her letters as her
dearest friend.”

“It must have been so,” replied Elgiva, musingly. “It
was so, I am sure! I remember, now, how affectionately
she used to speak of her brother, and she described him
as a laborious student. They will soon meet again!
Why, why did he not inform me of this before?”

“He feared to do it.”

“Feared?”

“He said he could not trust his heart' and he would not
worship where the object of his adoration was unattainable.
But he could dream with impunity. His visions
were harmless.”

“It is well—perhaps. But he should have had a sister's
care in his illness—at least for the sake of Viola. In you,
however, he found a brother. I am glad he has not been
wholly neglected. Will you oblige me, Mr. Lorn, when
you return, by writing me concerning his condition? He
may be poor—in distress—”

“No! He has been frugal. He has not suffered for
want of means.

“Forgive me. I might have known as much, knowing
you were his friend. Poor youth! I can do no more than
pity him. And yet he will soon be in a better world, and
with one dearer to him than I could have been. You are
melancholy, and I do not wonder at it. When he has departed
let us visit—” she could say no more.

“Let us visit their graves together,” added Ned, comprehending
her. “Charles is a poet, whose name will survive.
And an early death has often been the sad fate of
the sons of genius.”

They arose. And Elgiva accepted the attentions of our
hero, who conducted her to her carriage, where he was rewarded
at parting by a slight pressure of his hand. He
then made inquiry if it were practicable for him to return
to Summerton that night. But it was too late!